


The Tale Of Joe Biden, His Retirement, And His Ice Cream Dream

by find_nowhere



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: BFFs, Desserts, Friendship Bracelets, Gen, IceCream, Joe/Barack friendship, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:41:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/find_nowhere/pseuds/find_nowhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the glorious defeat of The Donald, Joe retires from politics to a quiet life in a small town. He opens an ice cream (froyo, gelato, and maybe some sherbet) shop...or, uh, shoppe. He then learns an important life lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale Of Joe Biden, His Retirement, And His Ice Cream Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poisoninthewater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisoninthewater/gifts).



> I may have set my political RPF bar too high with my Bill story. I fear this one will be quite a disappointment compared to that one.

"And now my watch has ended," Joe says as he breaks what was a tight hug with his best friend Barack. The hug had lasted at least thirty-one seconds. He pats him on the shoulder firmly and purses his lips thoughtfully as if he has more to say. Their faces are very close. Whatever he has to say, he doesn't. Barack doesn't press him.

He moves on to hug Hillary and she starts to back away, but he grapples her quickly and pulls her in. He squeezes her arms to her sides, such that she can't hug him back. She wiggles a bit. He doesn't stop. The hug goes on for several more seconds. She gets twenty-five seconds. Barack will always be Joe's favorite president, but he likes Hillary. She gasps for air and he finally lets her go. He waves to Michelle and Jill, his wife, before donning a panama hat and vanishing into the throngs of people at the busy airport.

Barack absently fondles his friendship bracelet and then looks at Jill, curiously and also sad, "Do you know where he's going?"

Jill shrugs. Her face is expressionless and solemn. Maybe there's a hint of confusion, or maybe it's embarrassment.

Michelle's brow furrows and she looks at the secret service agents surrounding them, then she looks at Barack, then at Jill, and finally she slowly turns back in the direction that she last saw Joe. She crosses her arms and her biceps nearly rip off the sleeves of her shirt as she says, "All I know about Joe is that he comes and goes as he pleases, he answers to no one, and he is truly free."

~~~~~

Joe does not get on a plane. He leaves the airport in a cab and goes to get some ice cream when he's certain no one is looking too closely at him. He chuckles, pleased with his trickery. They can't know where he's going - no one can. He will only be found when he wants to be found, which will be never. He envisions himself as Mel Gibson in  _Braveheart_ and when the cab driver asks where he's headed he shouts, "FREEDOM!"

As he leisurely eats some chocolate ice cream, he removes a pen and moleskin notebook from his breast pocket. The notebook is full of flow charts and ideas he can't quite nail down. He looks at a page that reads:

_Chris Crispy (Krispy)...Rice Krispies? Toffee?? SOMETHING CRUNCHY!_

Beneath his small, careful script are diagrams of this sundae concept in black ink. He taps his pen on the page and then turns it. He needs to eat more ice cream for more inspiration. He also needs to visit notable frozen yogurt shops and gelato shops as well. Sherbet shops too, for good measure. He's not sure if there are sherbet shops. He plans to offer all four delicious frozen treats at his own shop. His shop will be called Joe's Joeyo, Gelajoe, and vIce Cream Specialty Shoppe. _Shoppe_. He'll definitely spell it the olde fashioned way. He isn't going to have sherbet in the name. Sherbet is sort of out of style, it seems. He also can't seem to work his name into it or any sort of pun. He isn't even quite sure how it's actually pronounced, but he's fairly certain no one really knows.

He chuckles to himself saying, "Baracky Road. Oh, boy. That's a good one, Joe."

He writes this down on the blank page, touches his friendship bracelet, and then finishes his ice cream, smiling.

~~~~~

Several months later, Joe has grown a beard. He arrives in a small town where no one recognizes him. They are all very Republican. So Republican they seem to have erased the former Vice President's face from their minds or maybe his beard is just that awesome. The entire town seems to be pretending that Barack's presidency never even occurred. He likes this. It's what he wanted. He purchases a building and begins to fix it up. He lives upstairs in a modest apartment, and he wears overalls when he works outside. He fits in very well. Everyone calls him "Mr. Joe" or "That Awkward Old Guy."

Locals often ask him what he's doing opening an ice cream shop(pe) in this neck of the woods, and he always says, "Biden my time before I become one with the void."

No one gets it, but he always laughs and laughs. Sometimes he starts laughing just thinking about it before he finishes the sentence.

The building begins to scream "Joe Biden," but no one notices. He could be himself here without anyone knowing he was being himself. It's amazingly liberating. He's never felt more free. He has no responsibilities except for his frozen deliciousness and his building. 

The awnings of the shoppe are red, white, and blue and the sign is the in the same font that's used on US currency (the part that reads 'The United States of America' on the bills). Underneath it says "Est. 2017." Inside are red booths because everyone prefers booths to tables and there are stools at the counter, which are blue with white stars. The counter top is polished white marble. The walls are white with red and blue stars in improvised patterns, adding some whimsy. Joe loves whimsy. Also on the walls are black and white photos from throughout his life, which are framed simply and hung in assorted staggered patterns, the monotone contrasting with the splashes of color on the walls. His array of frozen treat flavors spans the length of an entire wall and then there are also toppings...so many toppings. It's a rainbow of colors, and flavors, and wonder, and pure joy.

He spent a great deal of time watching videos on Youtube when he was Vice President. He learned how to make ice cream first - dreaming endlessly of opening this very shoppe. He began taking notes in his moleskin notebook, thinking this was nothing more than a fantasy, thinking he would never gain his freedom. He got himself a little icecream maker and he experimented with it every night, making Jill try his concoctions before offering them to Barack. Now he makes all of his own delicious flavors (some are seasonal and he plans to rotate others out) in big, serious machines. The presentation of his specialty sundaes is very flashy, and most of them have sparklers. He also offers froyo popsicles he branded as cHillary Pops (TM). They're available in vanilla, cherry, and blueberry.

Joe admires his hard work and takes it all in, preparing himself mentally for the grand opening of Joe's Joeyo, Gelajoe, and vIcecream Specialty Shoppe. 

You can take Joe Biden out of politics, but you can't take politics out of Joe Biden's frozen creations.

~~~~~

"I need a Banoehner Split, please, Mr. Joe," a chubby, young boy orders politely.

Joe chuckles at his own pun and says, "Coming right up, sonny."

The boy's mother orders some Amendmint Chocolate Chip in a cone. Joe also laughs at this pun as he jams and lights a sparkler in the Banoehner Split. Amendmint Chocolate Chip in a cone comes with a pocket Constitution. This lady should have at least eight pocket Constitutions by now.

She thanks him and says, "Your ice cream is so delicious and cheap, Joe."

"I am an optimist and an idealist," he said. He imagines himself standing at a podium, speaking at a convention for a roaring and excited audience. In reality, it's only this woman and her son. The boy isn't even listening, but that doesn't matter. He goes on, "Frozen desserts are not just for the one percent, frozen desserts are for the American people. All of the American people. Ice cream is about hope and I want to put hope into the mouths of all people."

"Alright, Joe. We'll see you next week." She grabs her son's elbow and guides him outside as Joe stares up at the ceiling smiling.

Joe wishes he still had a speech writer for these moments, or maybe he should prepare some speeches in advance for opportunities such as this one. He's no so great at winging it, he realizes. He still smiles. He chortles and then goes outside to sit in one of the rocking chairs he arranged out front. He sits outside when the weather is nice and business is slow. Kids join him and sit in the other chairs. He tells them stories about playing Pokemon Go in the White House.

A few teenagers join him. He tells them they can go in and grab themselves some cHillary Pops free of charge. They do, appreciatively. They bring him a blueberry one. He asks them what they think about his newest Joeyo idea - The Joeyo Supreme Triumvirate, which consists of Strawberry Supreme Court Justice, Black Cherry Supreme Court Justice, and Blueberry Supreme Court Justice. They all have fresh berries as well as chocolate flakes and swirls of vanilla. They'll be served with sparklers  _and_ pocket Constitutions.

"Sounds good, Mr. Joe."

"Your Joeyo is on point."

"Why didn't you call it Frojoe?"

They all laugh together and enjoy their popsicles.

~~~~~

As time goes on, Joe continues growing out his beard. He looks like a wizard. He hires a few kids to clean up each evening and teaches a few others the fine art of making the tastiest frozen delicacies. Soon the season transitions into winter and business slows because for some reason no one wants ice cream when it's cold out. Joe eats it year-round, he doesn't care. He teaches an ice cream-making and sundae-concept-creation class in his shoppe twice a week to inspire the youth and pass on his knowledge.

He begins to miss Barack. He also sometimes misses Jill. He often runs his fingers across the beads of his friendship bracelet without even realizing. His freedom is bittersweet - it came at a greatest cost than he expected.

Joe shooed out his employee early one evening, after ruffling the seventeen-year-old boy's hair. After he did it, he wondered if it was weird. Perhaps the boy was too old for such a gesture. Joe was never good at non-verbal communication. He wants to close up early and retire to his apartment to watch the news. As he begins putting the lids on each of his frozen snacks, he hears the bell above the entrance jingle. He hadn't flipped the sign.

He looks up and says jovially, "What can I...I..." His voice trails off and he stammers. For a moment, he thought the man who entered was Barack. It isn't. This man is a tall white man with blonde hair. His eyes were clearly playing a cruel trick on him. He recovers, "What can I get for you?"

The man cocks his head and says, "You look like you saw a ghost, man."

"For a second I thought you were someone I used to know." He touches his bracelet.

The customer looks over the many offerings of the shoppe for a few minutes before ordering a small Red, White, and Blueberry Sherbet. He pronounces it  _shur-beh_. Joe is pretty sure that's not correct, but he says, "Coming right up!"

The man settles and leaves the place silence except for the soft big band music playing for ambiance. His exit also leaves Joe feeling empty. He thinks he can fill it with gelato. He finishes closing up and takes some Berry S. Truman upstairs with him. He eats it absently and doesn't actually watch the news. Instead, he thinks about puns. He wonders if it would be feasible to also serve some American cuisine - hot foods, for the winter. He move his beard to the side to pull his moleskin notebook from his breast pocket and he writes:

_Ruth Ginsburger?_

And then he fills the page with question marks.

~~~~~

More weeks go by and Joe trims his beard so it doesn't dangle down into the icecream or get caught up in one of his machines. A woman who works at the hair salon offers to braid it. He declines, for the moment. He'll probably take her up on the offer in the summer, he thinks.

It's a slow Wednesday afternoon and he's working alone. He turns up the big band music and dances his way to the back to his industrial freezers and the magical machines he uses to craft his artisan desserts. The entrance bell jingles and he shouts merrily without looking back, "One minute!"

The Baracky Road ran out in the front, so he went to get another tub. He touched his friendship bracelet and sighed. He's glad it's one of the most popular flavors, but it also saddens him. He's free of the political grind, the chaos of Washington, the press, the madness, the other madness, all of the madness. He's living his icecream dream and spreading joy all over this tiny town. But it all means nothing without his best friend.

He hears hysterical laughter from the front. Familiar, hysterical laughter. He must be hearing things for it cannot possibly be...

Joe shuffles through the door and then immediately drops the tub of Baracky Road. It thumps on the floor solidly and then sits there like a round, squat version of the Washington Monument. Joe blinks and thinks he's hallucinating because standing in the middle of his shop, laughing uncontrollably, and clutching his stomach is the forty-fourth President of the United States, Barack Obama. He too has grown a beard. He too looks like a wizard. Barack turns and looks at him standing there gaping.

Neither says anything. The song that's playing ends and another song plays and finishes before either of them moves. Joe steps over the Baracky Road on the floor and embraces his BFF. He asks, "How did you find me? The NSA? Satellites?"

"You left a paper trail, Joe," he answers.

He doesn't end the hug and he says, "I've missed you. I can't do this Obama self."

They both burst into laughter, but they continue to hug. They both get hot and uncomfortable, and it gets hard to breath, so they're forced to let go. Joe stands very close to Barack, holding his shoulders, rubbing them.

"Can I order a cone of Impeachments and Cream?" Barack asks after several minutes of standing there together in silence the way that only the best of friends can.

"Of course. Coming right up, pal!" Joe responds excitedly. He goes back to pick up the Baracky Road tub and replaces the empty one. He prepares a large bowl of Impeachments and Cream for himself and for Barack.

 _Yes,_ he thought, laying down his ice cream scoop in extreme glee, _I have had my vision._  

**Author's Note:**

> I love Joe Biden. I also love ice cream.
> 
> +10 imaginary points if you get the last line reference.


End file.
